


Red

by LadyLokiLaufeyson



Series: Cain!Dean, Estranged!Sam, Dead!Cas 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kinda AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLokiLaufeyson/pseuds/LadyLokiLaufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's so much red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to the first story in this series, [Dust In The Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510052). The first story doesn't necessarily have to be read for this one to make sense though.

Dean is marked. He’s marked on both his body and on his soul. 

Red.

Red.

There’s so much **_red_**.

A fading red handprint marks his shoulder, from he was pulled out of Hell, _saved_ , by a beautiful angelic force all those years ago. 

The same angelic force that would die in his arms almost 5 years later, marking him with bright red, charred, raised welts that stretch across his torso and arms, as if he’d just been branded with a hot iron. They take the shape of feathers and are a constant reminder of what he lost.

The Mark of Cain was on his right arm, red and ugly. Equally red veins extended out from it, pulsating and glowing more _red_.

The only mark on his body that wasn’t red was the black anti-possession sigil tattooed just over his heart. Dean would laugh at the irony of that, the sigil was meant to keep demons out, but he’d became one all by himself. Maybe it was his own self that he needed protection from more than anything else.

The tattoo was an ugly reminder anyway, of the brother who shared the exact same tattoo. The brother who never loved Dean as much as Dean loved him. The brother who had fought Dean at every turn, the brother who was ungrateful for everything Dean had given him, or had tried to give him. Of the brother who’d left him, saying nothing more than he was “sorry” and that he was “done,”.

But the most red is in his soul. He doesn’t feel much remorse anymore. Doesn’t feel any remorse when he slices monsters and humans alike apart. Doesn’t feel any guilt when he kills a room full of living, breathing beings without batting an eyelash. Doesn’t feel any sorrow when they beg for their life, telling him of families and friends that would lament the loss. Doesn’t feel any regret as he cuts into screaming, writhing souls, torturing them like he’d done years prior during his stint in Hell. 

And he doesn’t feel anything when he washes the blood off of his hands; always surprised that even after all this time, they hadn’t been stained red too.


End file.
